The Truth Hurts

32 │dead weight

Music blares from the headphones buried deep into his ears as Cesar jogs on the treadmill, staring at himself through the reflection of the long stretch of mirror mounted onto the wall across from him. His muscle tank top is nearly drenched in sweat and, although feeling a bit nauseous, he controls his breathing as he carries on. He's always had a tendency to take out his aggression in the gym, hence why he is in such great shape.

He peers down and pushes at buttons on the control panel to increase the speed, not noticing as a hooded figure rapidly slips past him from behind. He looks up just as it vanishes from the corner of the mirror.

On the second floor in the upscale workout room, Randy lays down on the bench as he struggles to lift the barbell up in the air. He's still determined to transform those gaunt arms into some form of muscle. He lifts up the weight and groans, struggling to push it up. A shadow suddenly casts upon him and, as he continues to face upward at the ceiling, his eyes shift to the right. "Cesar? Hey, give me a hand!"

The length of the shadow grows larger as the figure steps toward him. He suddenly picks up on the sound of the treadmill still running downstairs and his eyes widen, realizing that there's no way it could be Cesar—just as the ghostly white mask peers down at him from underneath the black hood. Standing above him, the killer tilts his head.

Randy's arms begin to tremble more so, the weights rattling against the steel bars. "Who the—"

The killer quickly reaches over to clench onto the bar with both of his gloved hands, shoving the weight downwards toward Randy's head. Grunting, Randy desperately pushes back, struggling to keep his arms straight.

"What are you doing?!" He screams, trying desperately to reach his legs over to kicked the masked man, but nearly loses his grip in the process. He glances over at the railing, hearing Cesar still jogging against the treadmill. "CESAR! CESAR!!"

Cesar continues to exercise, not hearing a thing. He reaches down to turn up the incline on the machinery and picks up his pace.

"Shit!" Randy turns back to face the killer just as his elbow bends out, his arms pulling downward under the heavy weight. The bar crashes down into his throat, splitting his neck opens as it digs through his larynx.

Blood spews out in all directions as Randy helplessly gasps for air, his faint wheezing echoing off of the walls around him. Blood splatters onto the killer's mask and, next to his boots, a thick puddle of blood seeps out from the bench and trails its way over to the railing. Randy's feet slide through the puddle as his legs fall limp and his arms drop to his sides, swaying from the bench.

Feeling the vibration of the barbell crashing down, Cesar turns down the speed of the treadmill and removes one of his headphones. Waiting a moment, he hears nothing and places it back into his ear. He reaches over to turn off the treadmill and waits for the walking belt to slow down before stepping off of it.

He walks over to adjust the weights at another workout machine. He sits down on the bench and reaches out to grab onto the cushioned hand rails, stopping as he feels a warm substance ooze down through fingers and into his palm.

Slowly, he pulls his hand back and turns it around, seeing his palms are covered in a fresh, thick coat of blood. He lets out a short scream, his headphones ripping out as he jumps out of the bench, his back slamming into the mirror. "What the fuck?!"

He gazes over to see that the wall above the machinery has a long, thin blood trail running down it. He gazes up to see it is coming from upstairs, gradually dripping down from the floor underneath the railing.

"Randy?!" He hollers, but no response. Silence fills the air, the only noise the sound of the blood dripping onto the wall in front of him.

Cesar glances at the exit door, then over at the staircase. If something is wrong, he can't just leave Randy. Especially after what happened when they left Garrett behind... He can't make that same mistake again. Hesitantly, he turns around and walks over to the stairway. He grabs onto the railing and slowly ascends, staring at the top of the stairs as he reluctantly approaches the second floor.